


Hometown

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: Tom Petty (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 06:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'Tom Petty one where Tom and the reader are back in Gainesville and the reader wants to meet Tom’s parents but Tom really doesn’t want to and he tries to make up excuses but ultimately lets the reader know he had an abusive childhood and the reader feels really bad but he doesn’t want them to feel bad cause they didn’t know.'Can do!





	Hometown

“So you grew up here?”

“Sure did, sweetie,” Tom smiles, and you pull up at the traffic light, his hand resting on your knee. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just interesting.” You look at him. “It’s a shame we’re just passing through.” Tom raises an eyebrow. “I mean… are your folks still out here?”

You realise as you say it that Tom’s never really spoken to you about family - it’s never been some dark secret or anything, he’s just never really been overly open with you. You pull your foot up onto the seat, and he shrugs.

“Yeah, they are.”

“We could visit,” you say, and he nods.

“We, uh, could. Probably. Shame.” And that seems to be it. “Look over there, babe, I used to spend time with my friends…” You look over at him, but he doesn’t seem to be about to explain further, and you look out of the car again. _Weird_.

* * *

 

Your hotel room is simple but cosy; you sit on the bed as Tom makes a few phone calls - even when you have days off, people always want to know where he is, ugh - and read, and you realise you’ve only ever heard him really talk to his mother on the phone very rarely. He isn’t even calling her now - and you’re barely out of town from her.

“Tom,” you say, and he holds up his hand, mouthing ‘two minutes’ to you. You sigh, and lean back. All the signs point to something not-good, and you crawl forward, lying on your stomach. He mouths ‘sorry’ to you, and you shake your head. ‘It’s okay’ is your reply, and you wonder about it again. Perhaps they’ve had a row.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he sighs, hanging up. “You got me all to yourself for at least twelve hours before everyone starts freakin’ out that they can’t get hold of me.” He collapses next to you, and laughs through his hands. “I am… so hungry.”

“Let’s order something up here,” you say. “My treat, because I rarely get you to myself.” He sighs, and pulls you close, kissing your cheek gently. “Go on. You always treat me.”

“I earn more,” he teases, and then kisses you, nuzzling into your neck. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Tom…”

“Mmhmm?” he murmurs, and you roll over.

“Why don’t you want to talk about your family?”

He doesn’t immediately jump up, or storm out, or yell, or really react in any stereotypical way that you would expect from asking such a big question. The movies have lied. Instead, he just shrugs.

“It’s never really come up.”

That’s a non-answer. You bite your lip - on one hand, that isn’t a ‘stop asking’, but it’s definitely a deflection. Do you press it?”

“Is there… anything you want to tell me?” you prompt, and he exhales.

“Not… right now.” He starts running his hands through your hair gently, massaging your scalp as he goes. “But don’t go… contacting my mom or something ‘cause we’re in town. To ‘surprise’ me or whatever.”

“I don’t have her number, so don’t worry,” you say, playfully, and he grins, before sitting up.

“Okay, so there is a Thai place not far from here. It’s super nice, kinda cheap…” You wave your hand at him, and he winks. “I’ll book, you pay.”

As he dials the number, you swallow, and ask the question that’s on your mind - the one that’s really bugging you.

“Tom, you’re not ashamed of me, are you?”

“What?” It’s like you’ve shot him in the ribs; for a moment, those blue eyes are full of confusion and pain, and then he swallows. “Oh, god, no, sweetheart- hey, is that Tony? Yeah, man, I was wondering if you could get me and (Y/N) a seat at the 9 Elephants…”

You sit back, and wonder for a moment, before sighing and lying back. Who knows what’s going on?

* * *

 

You open your eyes and blink a little - the hotel is mostly quiet, although down the corridor you can hear someone drunkenly and joyfully talking. What time is it…? You sit up, and see that it’s 4.13 - it ticks over to 4.14 as you watch, and you rub your eyes.

Something feels wrong - you look, and Tom isn’t in the bed. The covers have been pushed aside, and his shoes are still here, so - you look at the door out to the balcony, and see him out there, in nothing but a pair of boxers, smoking.

You grab his t-shirt, hoping it goes low enough to cover your modesty, and step outside, wrapping your arms around him.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask quietly, and he nods, not even jumping at your touch.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah, babe.” He turned around, and smiles lopsidedly when he sees you’re in his t-shirt. “Man, you’re gorgeous.” He kisses you. “Honey, you don’t think I’m ashamed of you somehow, do you?”

“No. It was just… something I wondered.” You lean against him, and as he kisses you, you run your hands through his golden hair, sighing. “It’s fine, babe, really. You don’t have to-”

“But I don’t want to have secrets.”

“ _But_ , you don’t have to tell me anything,” you say firmly, and he nods.

“But,” he rebuts. “I want you to know. So let me talk.” You nod, and he sighs, taking another drag on his cigarette. “I don’t get on my folks.” You nod slowly. You suspected as much. “I… I talk to my mom. She knows about you. She thinks you sound… good for me.” He smiles weakly, eyes on the floor, and then back up to you. “And my brother.”

“Okay,” you say, gently, and he sighs.

“Fuck it, I’ll just spit it out. My dad used to beat the living crap out of me.” He looks at you, and your heart sinks as you hear the words. “I was quiet and I liked music and my dad… well, that wasn’t great for him. He treated me like shit.” He can’t even look at you as he says it. “Mom and I talk, but I’ve never kinda forgiven her for letting it happen, you know.” He shrugs. “Most kids get the belt or whatever, but this was worse. He was… sometimes, I thought he hated me.” He swallows nervously, and you reach out, cradling his sharp face. “I’m sorry, baby. I… I don’t wanna spend any time with them here, and I don’t feel the need to introduce you to them, because they’re not important enough to me right now.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t be, baby, you didn’t lay a damn hand on me.” He kisses you again. “Just… don’t…” He sighed. “Don’t think less of me, and don’t ever think I’m ashamed, baby.”

“Never. I’m here for you.” You smile, and kiss him, hard. “I love you. Now come back to bed.” His arm slides around your waist, and he kisses you for a long while, mouth as bitter as cigarettes; his hand drifts, and he pulls back, eyes wide, as he realises you aren’t wearing underwear, and then he sighs, smiling a little.

“Let’s go, honey.”


End file.
